the bed. She lay with her arms in a crucifixion position and relished the moment. It didn't last long, howevera ring tone came from her handbag. With a groan she sat up and took out her phone.
'Hi, Mom,' said her daughter Soley cheerfully.
'Hello, sweetie,' said Thora, glad to hear her voice. 'What are you up to?'
'Oh,' she said, slightly less cheerfully. 'We're on our way to the stables.' Then she whispered so softly that Thora had trouble making out the words, especially since her daughter seemed to have pressed her mouth right up against the phone to avoid being heard. Her voice came out muffled. 'I don't want to go at all. Those horses are nasty.'
'Hey!' said Thora, trying to pep up her daughter. 'They're not nasty; horses are really kind actually. It'll be fun for youisn't the weather nice?'
'Gylfi doesn't want to either,' Soley whispered. 'He says horses are old-fashioned and outdated.'
'Tell me something fun: what did you do today?' asked Thora, well aware that she was not the best advocate for horses.
Her daughter brightened up. 'We had ice cream and watched cartoons. It was real fun. Hey, Gylfi wants to talk to you.'
Before Thora managed to say good-bye to Soley, her son was already on the phone. 'Hi,' he said glumly.
'Hello, sweetheart,' replied Thora. 'How are things?'
'Useless.' Gylfi did not even try to whisperif anything, Thora thought he raised his voice.
'Oh, is it the horses?' she asked.
'Yes and no. Just everything.' After a short pause he added: 'I need to have a little talk with you when I get back tomorrow.'
'By all means, darling,' Thora replied, not knowing whether to feel happy that he was opening up at last or afraid about what he would say. 'I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow night.' When the call was over she made another attempt to take a napin vain. In the end she got up and took a hot shower.
While she was drying herself with the thick, snow-white towels, Thora noticed a guide to the local tourist attractions. She browsed for places that might have appealed to Harald. There was plenty to choose from but few possible links with the case. Three places did catch Thora's attention, however. The see of Skalholt received a two-page spread and had a clear connection with Harald through his interest in the bishops Jon Arason and Brynjolfur Sveinsson. Two other sights were possible candidates, as well: Mount Hekla and some caves from the days of Irish monks at Aegissida on the outskirts of Hella. What surprised her most was that she was fairly sure she had never heard of them before. Thora wondered whether the name Hella was from the same root as
No sooner had her knuckles left the door than Matthew opened it. Thora smirked when she saw his clothes. 'That's a nice suit,' she said in a jolly tone. 'And nice shoes.' Judging from the well-polished leather, his shoes must have cost a pretty penny, and Thora stifled a momentary pang of conscience about not warning him. He was bound to own plenty of other pairs.
'It isn't a suit,' Matthew said tetchily. 'It's a sports jacket and trousers. There's a difference. Not that you're likely to realize.'
'Oh, sorry, Mr. Kate Moss,' teased Thora, now quite at ease with her conscience, and the pending mistreatment of his footwear.
Without answering, Matthew closed the door behind him and jiggled the keys to the Jeep in his hand. 'Well, where to?'
Thora took her phone from her coat pocket to look at the time. 'I suppose it's best to start at Skalholt. It's almost four and we'll see from there.'
'Fine, Madam Guide,' Matthew said, scrutinizing her getup. 'You know there's a restaurant at the hotel, don't you? We don't actually have to go out to hunt for our dinner.'
'Ha-ha,' Thora said. 'I'd rather be warm and cozy than worry about looking cool. Though you might end up cool in more than one sense of the word, dressed like that in this weather.'
When they reached Skalholt it was beginning to get dark. The church was open and they hurried inside and began looking for someone to talk to. Soon they found a young man who greeted them and asked if he could help. They explained they were hoping to meet someone who might have spoken to their friend some time before. They described Harald's appearance.
'Hey,' the young man said when Thora was halfway through an account of the studs along Harald's right eyebrow. 'Aren't you talking about that student who was murdered? I met him!'
'You wouldn't happen to remember his reason for coming here?' asked Thora, smiling encouragingly.
'Let's seeif I remember correctly he wanted to talk about Jon Arason and his execution. Yes, and Brynjolfur Sveinsson.' He looked at them and hastened to add: 'There's nothing unusual about thata lot of our visitors have heard their stories and want to find out more. They're tragic but do have a macabre attraction. People are particularly interested in the fact that it took seven blows of the axe to behead Jon Arason. His head was literally split from his body.'
'Was he just wondering about these bishops in general terms?' Thora asked. 'Or was he interested in anything special connected with them?'
The young man turned to Matthew and switched to English. 'I don't know how familiar you are with the story of Jon Arason.'
Realizing this remark was intended for him, Matthew answered: 'I know as much about him as I do about his mother. In other words: nothing.'
'Oh, I see.' The man sounded almost shocked. 'To cut a long story short, Jon Arason was the last Catholic bishop of Iceland. He was bishop of Holar from 1524 and controlled Skalholt for a while as well. He was beheaded here in Skalholt in 1550, thirteen years after King Christian III of Denmark abolished Catholicism in Iceland and other parts of his realm. Jon Arason tried to prevent the Reformation and led a revolt against the new Lutheran faith, but he failed and ended up with his head on the block. The execution was a separate story because two weeks before, Jon had been granted immunity until the next parliament convened to discuss his case and that of his two sons. They were executed too.'
Matthew wrinkled his brow. 'His sons? Wasn't he a Catholic bishop? How could he have sons?'
The young man smiled. 'Iceland had won some kind of dispensationI don't know exactly howwhereby priests, deacons, and bishops could have mistresses. They were even allowed to make formal contracts that were tantamount to marriage vows. If they had children they paid a fine and everyone was happy.'
'How convenient!' exclaimed Matthew, taken aback.
'Yes, very,' came the jovial reply. 'Your friend Harald seemed to know the story well; he'd clearly read up on it. Of course I've only summarized it for you, there's much more to it. But anyway, that's the background to the question you were asking.' He looked at Thora, who tried to conceal the fact that she had forgotten her question long ago. 'Your friend was mainly interested in one thing when he talked to me: the printing press that Jon Arason had sent to Iceland in 1534 and set up in Holar, and what he printed on it.'
'And?' prompted Thora. 'What could you tell him?'
'It was a big question,' the young man replied. 'Very little is known about the first print. Some sources say it was a missala sort of manual for priests with a calendar of services, psalms, and the like. The four gospels of the New Testament were also printed at some stage. As far as I can establish nothing else is known about printing in Jon Arason's day. I remember your friend asking some rather curious questionsfor instance, if the bishop could have published a certain book that was very popular at that time. I asked if he meant the Bible but he just laughed. I didn't quite see the joke.'
'No, I can imagine,' said Matthew with a glance at Thora.
